A New Kind of Game
by Mayday on Broadway
Summary: But he's just a boy...' Mello/Matt. Rated 'M' for language, and possibly later chapters.
1. Prologue

**M'kay! So, this is the beginning of an idea I had. AU, of course, and, sadly, unbetaed- but ah, well! Almost none of this is mine- Death Note, L, and the three successors (C) Ohba and Obata, while _Soul's Path..._ Honestly, I'm sure you can find someone with the same name of game around somewhere. +sigh+ Nothing's original anymore...**

The harsh wailing of voices prevailed, breaking through the door which his clammy hands kept trying to pry open, doing what his feeble muscles could not- allowing him to listen keenly to their conversation with no trouble at all.

_But he's just a boy… He can't do it…_

Years later- was it years? or months? or days? maybe seconds?- he could come to regret crying out that, no, he wasn't a boy, he could do it, whatever they wanted, they had to let him! His voice, usually thin, reedy, giving out within a few minutes of his slightly hoarse, croaked French, grew strong, bold, the one time it was there for him and it was such a disastrous mistake. The voices hushed, a quiet lull to the garbled shouting, before it resumed in whispers. He fell asleep upon the damp, cobbled floor, shivering, not waking as the strange men, hours later, lifted him up onto a cart, rolling him down the many hallways that smelled nauseatingly like Lysol. From there, they set him onto his feet, waking him up while adjusting a helmet onto him, along with armguards, knee guards, and the traditional body suit, black, with neon-green streaks that glowed.

He was only ten, yet they pushed him into the virtual world, the first and only beta tester of _Soul's Path_, a game that had such promise in that it was the first to literally push the mentality of the gamer into the world. However, what the scientists weren't aware of was that, while one could go in with no problem, getting out was an entirely different matter, it seemed. And the body went with the mind, every last bit.

_He was just a boy…One born lately…_

_Soul's Path_ was deemed a failure, being that they couldn't pull him out, which was what the suit was intended to do- be a link from the computer to the real world, enabling him to go in and out by their will. Then, on a fateful day, the manager of Death Note, Inc., a man known by L, died mysteriously, and the two remaining successors- for he had let his third successor go into the game- fought, and finally the eldest said that, if he could retrieve the third successor, he would be the new L.

_But they're just children… He was a boy…_


	2. Entering the Game

**Didn't expect people to review so quickly! Well... just one person... But thanks! At least I know it's being read!**

He winced, feeling the cold metal of his gun in his pocket, staring at the twisted metal behemoth taking up the majority of the room. "This is his picture. We photoshopped it to make it look like how we guess he'd look like after nine years. We don't know how his mind has been affected- if worst comes to worst, shoot him," the scientist said gruffly, glowering. He was against the whole deal, but this was the second successor, and one did not go against Mello's wishes if one wanted to keep their ass firmly attached to their body.

Perhaps Mello could sense the scientist's anger; his hand flew out, slapping the creator of _Soul's Path_ smack in the face, sending him sprawling. "Don't fucking tell me who to fucking shoot, bitch. If I decide to shoot him, I'll shoot him. Not because you tell me to- but because of MY reasons, got it?" he snarled, kicking the man in the ribs brutally. "Now, send me in!"

"Just remember- he'll probably go by the name of Matt, maybe Mail Jeevas," another scientist chimed in, flipping several switches to make the grotesque structure hum with electricity, glowing black and bright green. Squaring his shoulders, the blonde swallowed, feeling a flash of fear- but no, he had to put it away, save it for a more reasonable time. They'd perfected the technology of recall, but it required the consent of the wearer of the suit- too expensive to make another one for him, it seemed- and from how many times they'd tried to get him back, it seemed the child just did NOT want to leave. It was odd, like he preferred the digital world to the real world.

With a short jerk of the head, Mello stepped forwards, throwing open the door to the world they had yet to name, and stepping in.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The second, the fact it was rather dismal.

The smell explained itself; it was far more polluted than the world he'd left, so it smelled of burning plastic, smog, and leaking sewage. It lent itself to being dismal, for many of the buildings were derelict, with huge rats, some the size of medium dogs, scuttling everywhere, electricity snapping off broken telephone poles, with some crashing every minute. People straggled by him, obviously poor, but their clothes made them appear robotic, if quite rusted, and upon closer inspecting he realized that they were wearing suits- metal suits.

Pulling out his gun, he crept forwards into the decay, debris crunching underfoot, while the commoners gave him odd stares, whispering at the scandal. How naked he was! It was revolting! Where was his suit? Even those in the poorhouse got suits, while he just wore these flimsy things that probably couldn't last through a quarter of a tourney. Though that metal object looked pretty deadly. Was it a new version of the G-Ray? Version nine, of course. But he was deaf to their rumors, deaf to their disdain, intent on finding this 'Matt' and gaining his rightful title as the second L, beating Near, the stupid toad of a towhead.

As he slunk deeper into the city, it began to appear more prosperous, and the stench was alleviated somewhat, though the burning plastic and smog never really left. The people were wearing pricier clothing, decorated in bright paint that wasn't peeling, their faces partially covered by masks in the shape of creatures that he'd never before seen. Occasionally there would be sprinters, filling the air with the scent of gasoline, which irked him, but he continued forwards, slipping into an alleyway.

Once there, he stopped to rest his legs. The gravity was worse here, hence the reason they were wearing suits, though this city looked like it wasn't exactly supposed to be there, like they'd gotten a will of their own. He leaned against the slimy wall, closing his eyes and drifting off. A second later, it seemed, there was something frigid and sharp grabbing his arm, yanking him up.

"I don't advise that."

The words were clipped, hollow, and Mello opened his eyes, confronted with green lights in a black visor. Yanking himself away, the blonde pressed himself against the wall, but the stranger didn't react, just continued staring before snorting, looking at his right hand. Just barely, Mello could see fingers, but they were encased in claw-like metal projections, covered in blood- and lower down, on the stranger's ribcage, there were vicious slashes, like he'd tried to tear the suit off in vain. The blood was old, though the wounds still wept red profusely. "The wall is poisoned. I don't advise that." It relieved him that this person did, indeed, have a mouth, since he saw it moving, but when this person stopped talking, it was pressed into such a tight line that it almost disappeared.

Still, if it was poisoned, he wasn't going to stay there, so he stepped forwards. The man mirrored it in reverse, stepping backwards before nodded. "That is advisable. Stay off the walls here. Now, where is your ID?"

Shit. What was this ID? "I left it in my other pair of pants," Mello said carefully, a bit nervous at the knowing grin he was given, as if… "You know I'm lying, don't you?" he said resentfully, voice accusing, but all he got was a nod in return, blank lights staring at him. "Would you take that thing off?" A shake of the head. This was pissing him off, since he wasn't used to not getting his way all the time- but then, it was good practice for this world, he guessed, since he'd been told people would be less than amiable to follow out his every whim. He lunged forwards, managing to touch the cool metal of it before suddenly he was thrown onto his back, cringing in pain. That was new.

"You have just attempted to assault a Tournier*. You are without an ID. You are without a suit. I have the right to kill you right now. Come with me." The 'Tournier' (what did that even MEAN?!) turned on his heel, striding forwards with his hand still on Mello's wrist. After a moment, he yanked the blonde onto his back, running at a breakneck pace, while he yelled warnings. "Running Tournier- coming through- prisoner- MOVEITMOVEITMOVEIT!" He dodged everyone who didn't move in time, which was relatively few, since they were all wearing visors- perhaps that gave them better thinking? Either way, Mello, for sure, didn't want one of his own.

They were heading towards a large dome in the center of the city when the man ducked into an alleyway, jumping into a large, open grate that smelled, surprisingly, nicer than the outside air. The man began running upon the pavement that lined the waters, which proved they weren't in the sewers- the water was too clean, and emitting a faintly floral scent. Before long, though, the man climbed out, setting Mello down and yawning. "I am Number 756-1, the last of the 700's division. Now, tell me, where did you come from?! Any news from Elle?" At least, it sounded like Elle to Mello- the stranger had a slight accent. Not knowing exactly what to do, he shook his head sadly.

"I'm from over the sea. Sorry. I don't know who the fuck Elle is." He shrugged. A lie. "Now, get me a fucking bed! I'm tired." 756-1 nodded, striding towards an empty room and pointed. Mello passed him, shooting a glare, and flopped onto the rough cot, one of many, falling asleep quickly, complete with strange dreams.

_Who is he?_

_ I have no idea._

_ Maybe he's our ticket out of the Tourney!_

_ Wouldn't count on it, Magdelia. He seems weaker than us Tourniers, but then, we were all wanderers once…_

_ Matt, listen, I don't have much time… I want to see your world..._

_ And you will, Magdelia. And you will._

***Tournier: One who participates in the Tourneys. More information will become available as the plot goes on.  
**


End file.
